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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544335">Good Company</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths'>LessonsFromMoths</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'm stuck in HQ tumblr hell [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar Disorder, Bokuto had a bad day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, Little Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Wrong number, little angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Koutarou is spiralling, oh god he can barely breathe and the walls are too tall and the floor isn’t stable enough and why did he have to be on the third floor, really?</p>
<p>"Breathe," the voice over the phone says. Koutarou is about to apologize again when he stops short. That voice. It’s not-- It isn’t--. Whoever is on the other end of the phone is decidedly <em>not Kuroo.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>or...Bokuto is struggling through an episode when he accidentally dials the wrong number.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou &amp; Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'm stuck in HQ tumblr hell [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>471</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Good Company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Bokuto Koutarou suffers from bipolar II disorder and he lives with it like a champ and that is all.</p>
<p>Also I wrote this in 30 minutes running off of nothing but yesterday's curry and hour 3 of my friend's 11-hour Indie playlist, so who knows if this is actually any good ha!</p>
<p>Tumblr prompt: "oh shoot i called the wrong number but can we keep talking?" from anon (lmk if you know the source material). Enjoy my spiral in Bokuaka hell! </p>
<p>Un-beta'd!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Koutarou is spiralling, oh god he can barely breathe and the walls are too tall and the floor isn’t stable enough and why did he have to be on the third floor, really? What if the floor just collapsed? And what if, when it collapsed, it killed the cute family below him and he had to live with that for the rest of his life? He couldn't, he really really couldn't.</p>
<p>Gods, it would just be better if he wasn’t here. Maybe he could go to the park. If his legs would move, he probably would. But everything is weighed down in an odd way that makes him feel like he’s floating. He knows exactly what’s happening: he’s coming down from a manic episode and falling into a depressive one, but even with that self awareness there is nothing he can do to stop it. He just has to sit here and take it like a punch to the face. </p>
<p>Normally the downswing wouldn’t be so bad, but his day was just so terrible that it threw him for a loop, gave him no time to prepare or call Kuroo or even hole himself in his room and now he’s glued to his entryway floor, the door barely closed behind him as he tries to make his thoughts make sense.</p>
<p>It would be a million trillion billion times better if Kuroo were here, so his fingers numbly reach into his pocket to grasp at his cell phone, hands cradling the familiar object. His fingers are shaking as he dials the number he knows by heart, his breath catching and hitching uncomfortably as he presses the cool phone to his face, hoping Kuroo will pick up. </p>
<p>
  <em>Pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up --</em>
</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>“Kuroo I’m at home I’m so sorry I know I’m a lot but I’m at home and nothing is okay and breathing is hard and I can’t calm down and my room is so far and I promise I didn’t forget to take my meds but I relapsed anyway and I don’t know why and I’m freaking out I’m so sorry I don’t want to be a burden I --”</p>
<p>“Breathe,” Kuroo says, and Koutarou realizes that he hasn’t taken a breath in a while. He gasps loudly for air, hiccuping as he curls in on himself, one cheek pressed to the floor and the other against his phone. He stretches his hand out in front of him on the carpeted floor, still trying to suck as much air into his lungs as possible.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says, small and high and broken.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Koutarou is about to apologize again when he stops short. That voice. It’s not-- It isn’t--. Whoever is on the other end of the phone is decidedly <em>not Kuroo.</em></p>
<p>“Ohmygods,” he whispers, high and breathy, the air squeezed from his lungs before he can take another breath. “Oh no I’m so sorry oh my god I didn’t even call the right number I can’t even do that right I’m so sorry I can’t believe I did that I--”</p>
<p>“Breathe,” the voice says again, and Koutarou stops his tirade to do as it requests. “Just keep breathing, everything is going to be fine.”</p>
<p>The voice is nice. It’s low and soothing, obviously a voice that is accustomed to calming others down. Koutarou wonders what the person on the other side of the phone looks like. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he squeaks out again.</p>
<p>“Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for,” the voice repeats, gentle and sincere. A few tears pop out of his eyes at the sheer tenderness displayed in its tone. “Would you like to talk about it?” </p>
<p>Koutarou takes some more shaky breaths, just like his psychologist taught him. “I don’t know,” he whispers.</p>
<p>“Who’s Kuroo?” The other voice asks pleasantly, as if he wants to know the weather.</p>
<p>“M-my best friend,” Koutarou says. “I call him when it gets bad.”</p>
<p>“Are you alone right now?”</p>
<p>In the back of his mind, Koutarou knows that this is a stranger and he shouldn’t tell them personal information. However, he also knows that the question seems innocent. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Can you be alone right now?”</p>
<p>The question shocks him, and he starts crying again. “No, not really,” he sobs, willing the tears to stop falling from his eyes. <em>There’s nothing wrong.</em> There’s nothing wrong.  It’s just his stupid brain telling him that something’s wrong and fuck why can’t he do anything right his brain doesn’t even work properly and he dialed the wrong number and --</p>
<p>“How about this? Can you stay on the phone with me and text Kuroo to tell him that he should come over?” The voice is soft, not condescending at all, and Koutarou is grateful, so, so grateful. His mind latches on to the plan, thankful for something to focus on.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah,” he chants, taking his phone away from his face to type out a message. He doesn’t get too far before he has to take a break. “M-my hands are shaking too badly,” he whimpers, accidentally pressing the wrong contact to text again.</p>
<p>“No worries,” the voice soothes. “You can type when you’re ready. Do you two have a code word for something like this? Maybe something short? Or even just the word, ‘help?’” </p>
<p>“We do,” Koutarou realizes, the fog in his muddled brain lifting slightly to remind him of their decade-long code. It’s usually reserved for when they’re out in public, so Kuroo knows to lead him away from other people or get him home as soon as possible, but he knows that if he texts it Kuroo will drop everything to be on his way. The thought sits heavy in his brain. </p>
<p>“I-I don’t want to make him come all the way over here,” Koutarou sniffs, thinking of how Kuroo would come no matter what, but how the circles under his eyes would darken and his sighs would lengthen because of the trouble.</p>
<p>“Listen to me. He won’t be inconvenienced. If he really is your best friend, he loves you more than anything and would do everything he can to help you. Does that sound familiar?”</p>
<p>Koutarou knows that the same words have come from Kuroo’s mouth many times, and objectively he knows that it’s his stupid brain telling him that no one likes him and that he’s nothing but a burden, but he still can’t help the guilt flushing through his veins. </p>
<p>“Text him.” </p>
<p>Koutarou manages to pull up Kuroo’s contact and open up their messages. Their last thread is about what Kuroo is going to get Kenma for Christmas. Koutarou left him on read once his lunch break was over. He grips his phone tightly, thumbs shaking as he types the words.</p>
<p>“You’re doing great,” comes a tinny voice through his speaker, and it gives him the strength to punch in:<em> “its loued.”</em></p>
<p>After he sends it he realizes that he added an extra letter, but he knows he won’t be able to do it again. Not even a minute later there’s a response waiting for him:<em> “Be there in 20.”</em></p>
<p>Koutarou brings the phone back up to his ear. “He’s coming,” he says into it. </p>
<p>“Good, I’m glad. I’ll stay with you until he gets there. Is that okay?”</p>
<p>Koutarou’s mind is slowly clearing as the mania clears out with every exhale, leaving only the heaviness of his roundabout thoughts. “You don’t have to stay on,” he gets out, letting his head thunk down onto the floor again. “I’ll be okay.”</p>
<p>“Just a little longer, then? I had a long day at work and could use the company.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” Koutarou says softly. “What do you do?” </p>
<p>“I’m an editor,” he says. “Today, one of my authors turned in some very lazy pages, so I had to call her in and we had to rewrite the entire thing together. I’m still not sure if it’s any good, but I hope the readers aren’t too mad,” he confesses. “Sorry, I don’t usually talk this much. I apologize if I’m boring you.”</p>
<p>Koutarou doesn’t think he could ever be bored listening to this voice. “No, please. Don’t stop talking?” </p>
<p>“Alright,” the man on the other end of the line says easily enough. “I think i’m about to make dinner. Care to listen as I debate with the ingredients in my pantry?”</p>
<p>Koutarou finds himself enamoured as he tucks his knees to his chest, still lying flat on the ground as the man on the other end of the phone creates a compelling argument for and against the chicken waiting in his fridge. He rates his hunger on a very intricate scale of 1 - 18, each number representing a complex but endearing condition regarding his stomach. He says the number will help him narrow down his meal options by limiting the time frame for the meal. He finally settles on the number 10, which he explains means that he should make a meal that takes about an hour to cook. </p>
<p>“Curry!” He declares, his voice slightly echoing from putting Koutarou on speakerphone so he could rummage through his fridge. </p>
<p>In the background, Koutarou can hear the comforting sound of vegetables being chopped. It reminds him of when he was small and his grandmother would make him curry when he was feeling “blue.” Kuroo does the same thing, has ever since Koutarou’s grandmother died, and it fills him with a great comfort that this stranger, however far he may be, is also making curry on Koutarou’s blue day.</p>
<p>“...always sing to my vegetables,” the man is saying when a sudden rapping comes from Koutarou’s door. He knows that it’s Kuroo announcing his presence, and that his friend will use the spare key to let himself in. </p>
<p>“Kuroo’s here,” Koutarou interrupts softly. </p>
<p>“Oh. I’m glad he made it alright. Will you be okay?” </p>
<p>Koutarou’s heart bleeds at the words. “Yes. Thank you.” He wants to say so much more, like how the stranger’s voice occupied the boxes in his mind that open up on his worst days, how his strange ranking system battled against Koutarou’s self-destructive thoughts and won more than they didn’t, how hearing about the songs he sings to the vegetables to make them grow chased some of the heaviness away. How the dark didn’t seem as dark when he could listen to the light lilt of this man’s musical tone. But his mouth stops speaking after his thanks. </p>
<p>“Thank you for keeping me company. Goodnight.”</p>
<p>His phone beeps to signal the end of the call, and Koutarou stares blankly at the wrong number he typed in as it blinks at him before the screen turns black. That’s how Kuroo finds him, still curled up on his side on the floor with his eyes trained on his phone in his outstretched palm.</p>
<p>“Oh, Bo,” Kuroo says, voice just as gentle as the stranger’s and exactly as familiar despite their years of friendship compared to the fleetingness of the phone call. </p>
<p>Kuroo lies down on the floor with him, facing him, grabbing his hands and holding them as tightly as he can. Kuroo knows that this grounds him. There’s no judgement in his eyes as he waits. He’s waiting for Koutarou to either stand up or talk about his day, but Koutarou is just waiting for his mind to sort itself out again, trying to wrap itself around the idea of this stranger, whose name he doesn’t know, who stayed on the phone with him because he sounded sad. </p>
<p>His phone lights up and Koutarou quickly works one of his hands out of Kuroo’s grip, startling the other man. Koutarou never lets go first. </p>
<p>He has a text from an unknown number, one that is two digits different from Kuroo’s. </p>
<p>
  <em>Call me if you want to talk again. I’m always in need of good company.</em>
</p>
<p>Koutarou manages a small upwards tick of his mouth before he sets his phone down, tired beyond tired. He grasps Kuroo’s hand again, letting his eyes slide shut as he counts his breaths. </p>
<p>“Can we get curry?” He asks quietly. </p>
<p>“Of course.” Kuroo’s face is so close that his spearmint breath (permanently scented from the mints he perpetually sucks on) washes over his own face, the aroma familiar and comforting. “Want to go to bed?” </p>
<p>Koutarou nods, and Kuroo hauls himself up before firmly grasping Koutarou’s hands and pulling him into a standing position. “Couch?” Koutarou suggests. They’ll have to take the trip to the bedroom later, but Koutarou knows that Kuroo always worries less when he asks to be on the couch instead of burrowing in his “cocoon of loneliness.” He knows he’s made the right call when Kuroo’s face brightens considerably, hope evident. The couch isn’t very far, and Koutarou snuggles deeply into the blankets as Kuroo dials for takeout. </p>
<p>He joins Koutarou once he’s done, wrapping his arms tightly around his body and enveloping him in a safe and warm hug. With other people it can be suffocating, but with Kuroo it’s just a comfort. “Do you know what caused it?” Kuroo asks softly. He doesn’t need an answer, but Koutarou will give him one anyways.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Lots of triggers today. Couldn’t stop it,” he sniffs, eyes dry and itchy from crying. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Kou,” Kuroo presses his face into Koutarou’s hair. “Can you work from home tomorrow?” Koutarou nods. “Good. We’ll do that, then.” After all this time, Kuroo doesn’t have to skip work too, but Koutarou appreciates it nonetheless. </p>
<p>“Who is that blowing up your phone, by the way?” </p>
<p>Koutarou leans forward to collect his phone from where Kuroo placed it on the coffee table and glances at the lock screen. </p>
<p>
  <em>Feel better soon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>My name is Akaashi Keiji, by the way.</em>
</p>
<p>“‘Kaashi,” he murmurs. A pretty name for a pretty voice. </p>
<p>“Who’s ‘Kaashi?” </p>
<p>Koutarou smiles gently at the messages. When he’s feeling better, he’ll have to call Akaashi again. Maybe ask him out on a date. It would be weird going out with someone who’s already seen him at his worst, but maybe not a bad weird. Maybe, despite Koutarou’s problems, Akaashi Keiji and all of his quirky lists would be able to make a list of reasons to stay. The thought keeps the smile on his face. He burrows deeper into Kuroo’s embrace.</p>
<p>“Good company.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, I respond to all comments :)</p>
<p>Visit my <a href="https://lessons-from-moths.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> to talk about HQ or request a fic :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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